What is the Point?
by TheHeartOfTheDetective
Summary: Sherlock Holmes and Molly Hooper are by themselves in the zombie apocalypse, and they are beginning to question the point in living. (Sherlolly ZombieLock)


Sherlock Holmes threw the knife, piercing the walker's eye. As it fell to the forest floor, Sherlock caught the knife that Molly Hooper threw to him and ran over to the walker. The idea of killing them sickened him. Sherlock had killed people in the past, before everything happened, but that didn't mean that he liked it. The walkers, although he didn't want to kill them almost as much as he didn't want to kill real people, had to be killed. Sherlock knew he had to kill them.

He frowned and brought the knife down upon the walker's neck as fast as he could. Molly would appreciate his choice of fast decapitation. She believed that part of the corpses were still alive and conscious; Sherlock, on the other hand, did not. Sherlock thought that the idea of that was silly. He knew that the people these creatures possessed were no longer there, so if the walkers felt any pain, he didn't care.

Molly understood that they needed to kill walkers. She knew that they could hurt and kill her and she understood that they had to be killed so that she and Sherlock could stay safe. Sherlock thought that her idea of walkers was just something that she wanted and chose to believe, but knew was not true. Sherlock chose to go with it, just to please her. They had been through so much together; there was no point in arguing over the fate of the dead.

After seeing what had happened to John, Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft, and Lestrade, Sherlock wanted to believe that they hadn't completely died. He wanted to believe that there had been a part of them that was conscious, any part at all. He wished that they had heard his last words to them, before he had to put a bullet through their brains. Sherlock's last words for the people he held dearest, and they would never hear it. Words of what he believed were sentiment and reassurance that they would be well for them soon. He hoped that they would appreciate him killing them. They would never want to become one of those creatures, so when they did, Sherlock knew that he had to pull the trigger.

Poor Molly had seen it as well; all of it. She knew what Sherlock had to do, but although he had tried to convince her to take a walk while he took care of their bitten friends, or to at least turn round so she wouldn't see, she watched him kill the only people she had left in the world.

Now, it was just her and Sherlock. They were by themselves in this, and they helped each other and protected each other.

"Molly?" Sherlock said as they sat round a campfire that night. Molly wore Sherlock's coat, and Sherlock had wrapped a blanket around the two of them.

"Yes?" Molly said. She gripped his hand tighter and scooted closer to him in attempts to help keep them warm.

Sherlock kept a straight face as he looked straight ahead of them. "What is the point?"

Molly looked up at him, confused. "What is the point of what?"

Sherlock looked down at their entwined fingers, which lay on his left leg. "This."

Molly frowned and shook her head slightly. "I don't understand."

"Being together," Sherlock clarified. "Staying alive. Holding on to each other even though we both know the eventual outcome. Someday, only one of us will be left alone in this world. One of us will be left by ourselves and the other will end up like the rest of this damned world."

There was a silence from them. The only sound was the crackling of the fire, and the cool breeze carrying leaves through the air.

"What is the point?" Molly repeated after a few moments. "Although the world is messed up we have to keep going. That's what they would do, and that's what they would want us to do. I get that the world has gone to Hell, but that is no excuse to give up on life!"

Sherlock looked down. He knew he shouldn't have said anything, but the thought had been in his head for a while now. He had to say it.

"Sherlock," Molly said, her voice softer this time. "Why would you ask that? Seriously, why?"

"Because it's true." He said, looking back at her.

Molly looked into his eyes for a moment before laying her head on his shoulder. "I know. We don't have any other options, though."

"Besides suicide." Sherlock spoke quietly, hoping Molly wouldn't hear him.

"That is _not_ and option, Sherlock Holmes." Molly said, her voice cold.

"It could be."

"Enough." Her voice was stern, and Sherlock closed his eyes.

Sherlock leaned his head into hers. The little body heat they shared and the small fire in front of them was not enough to keep them from shivering. They tried to get closer to each other, but there was no way to. They sat with their heads together, and there bodies side by side wrapped in the only blanket they had thought to carry with them. The fire's crackling started to die down, and they knew they would have to get more wood soon.

After a few minutes of silence passed, Sherlock broke the silence. "It really could be an option."

"Why?" Molly asked, trying to keep her voice calm.

"Do you enjoy this, Molly?" Sherlock snapped. "Concealing ourselves in the woods, killing people every day, even our old friends; is that the life you want to continue to live? One day, I may have to shoot you, or you might have to shoot me. That is the last thing I want to do, and I hope you feel the same. This is not the kind of life I want to live. Our lives are Hell, Molly. Do you really want to live in this Hell on earth?"

Molly took her head off of his shoulder. "Of course not!"

"So the answer is simple. We only have two bullets left anyways. It will be quick. We can ju–"

"Sherlock!"

"I'm just saying!"

Molly sighed. "Suicide isn't the answer to everything. I don't know what Jim told you about it, but it really isn't. Although life sucks, your life is too precious, Sherlock. You need to realize that sooner or later."

"I'm sorry." Sherlock said.

"Don't be,"

"It's just," Sherlock was silent for a beat, and then continued. "What are we supposed to do?"

"What we've been doing," Molly said, returning her head to its place on the detective's shoulder. "Surviving. Holding on to and protecting each other while we still have each other. We can make it work, I promise. We just have to stay together."

Sherlock said nothing; he just turned his head and placed a kiss on Molly's forehead. What was there to say?

Oh, of course.

"I love you, Sherlock." Molly said, closing her eyes as his lips left her forehead.

Sherlock leaned his head against hers once again. He wrapped his arm around her, and held the blanket tighter around them. "And I you, Molly Hooper."


End file.
